


Nauseating

by NoelleLilacNotte, Yiiiiikes



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Rape, F/M, Fear, Fear Play, Omorashi, Praise Kink, horror porn, is that a tag? it is now, seriously it so fucked, some fucked up shit goes down in a Bloaty’s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29934072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleLilacNotte/pseuds/NoelleLilacNotte, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yiiiiikes/pseuds/Yiiiiikes
Summary: Nauseating (Adjective)causing or liable to cause a feeling of sickness or disgust; disgusting.
Relationships: Dib (Invader Zim)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Nauseating

**Author's Note:**

> Read the fucking tags y’all

Minimum wage jobs suck. It was a universal fact of life, made even more apparent to you as you watched the clock on the wall tick, so agonizingly slow. A seemingly endless sea of loud, greasy toddlers with parents who looked like they were about three days from snapping littered the dingy little restaurant you called a workplace. If the excited screams of the kids didn’t cause you to lose it, the creepy mascots surely would.

Hell had a name, and it’s name was Bloaty’s.

A chime alerted you to _another_ goddamn set of customers entering the room, this time with patrons a little older than your normal clientele.

A short girl with purple hair and a scowl, a towering man in laboratory attire, and a skinny guy with glasses who looked about your age. 

The glasses kid could almost be kinda cute, if it wasn’t for the shifty expression he had, or the fact that he absolutely _refused_ to stop looking at you. He barely even blinked as (presumably) his father ordered for the three of them.

Man, why did all the hot ones have to be weird? You smiled and ignored it, just trying to do your damn job with as little fanfare as possible. Even after you took the families order and went back to the kitchen to prepare it (because of course you got stuck closing by yourself, _again_ ) you felt his eyes on you. 

It probably should have bothered you a lot more than it did, but after the last six months of working here you've been leered at by worse guys. At least this one was around your age. 

He's still standing at the counter, you can see it out of the corner of your eye. His father and sister (you assumed) had already taken a seat in a crusty booth ... or did they sit in one of the _gooey_ booths? It almost wasn't worth thinking about. You'd scrubbed those booths down with a hundred different cleaning supplies and no matter what you used those damn fake leather seats just stayed _gross_. 

When you hand him his families tray of food he seems surprised, like he hadn't expected you to notice him standing there.

"Here you go, enjoy your meal!" You forced yourself to smile, though you were pretty certain you looked about as miserable as a person is capable of looking. 

Man, you really need to find a new job soon.

Just as you turned to leave, the boy’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist. You stared down at where he was grabbing you, his bony fingers clasped in a lock around the hem of your sleeve, his chipped, black-lacquered fingernails digging into the band of skin below. 

“My name’s Dib!”

Your confusion (and mild disgust at the greasy fabric on his hand, who the hell ate pizza with fingerless gloves on?) must have been evident on your face, because the kid, Dib, released you from his grip and shoved his hands behind his back like a little kid fixing their posture for a teacher.

“I didn’t mean to grab you! You’re not wearing a name tag though, I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“Oh, uh...”

You paused. This guy was giving off some _weird_ vibes, but you could probably chalk it up to a lack of experience. You got the feeling that he didn’t have many friends. 

“Well, I have to get back to my other tables, but if you’ve got questions, feel free to come ask at the register or something.”

Dib nodded, keeping his eyes on you, his ecstatic smile showing off thin, crooked teeth, and doing absolutely nothing to combat the creepiness of his stare. Had he even blinked since making eye contact? You couldn’t remember. 

He stared a little longer, almost like he was expecting something. You took his silence as an excuse to leave, muttering something about the pizza oven and taking refuge behind the front counter. 

Weirdo.

The rest of your evening was pretty uneventful. You served some gross food to some insufferable people, swept the lobby (ignoring Dib's attempts to casually grab your attention), and you stood behind the counter, picking at your cuticles, thinking about how satisfying it's gonna be some day to put in your two weeks notice and get out of this shit hole.

You hadn't even noticed when Dib and his family left, but the empty table they had previously occupied was a welcome sight. Something about that guy just freaked you out. He would almost be cute if he wasn't so intense. The awkwardness was excusable, and in some situations probably a little endearing, but the staring and the way he grabbed you... It left a bad taste in your mouth.

You close the store at midnight without much trouble aside from shooing some drunk business men out after they started throwing pepperoni all over the place. All in all, it wasn't too terrible of a night- and after working at Bloaty's for as long as you have, you've had some pretty fucking terrible nights.

And god, terrible nights just kept coming. 

After that first incident, Dib had become an almost constant presence. He called in an order every other night, always lingering on the phone and at the register, spending just a few seconds longer than he needed too. 

You probably should have been concerned about it all, but after the first couple days you’d just sort of accepted it. He hadn’t touched you at all since that first time, and even through his constant, unblinking staring hadn’t let up, you’d gotten used to it. 

He wasn’t so bad, you guessed. A little weird, a little intense, but he was cute, and complimented you sometimes, and listening to him go off about aliens and monsters made your day a little more interesting, if nothing else. 

Even if he didn’t always listen when you asked him to wait, or hold on, or let you finish your work. Even if he was pushy and overbearing and way, _way_ to interested in your personal life.

You learned to live with it. You did a lot of nodding and smiling, and answered his uncomfortable probing questions in as few words as possible. You weren't stupid, you kept him at arm's length, never giving him any personal information. But between the constant conversation and your responsibilities as an employee you were bound to slip up a couple times.

And really, it only takes a couple of mistakes to start digging your own grave. 

You'd mentioned to him that you closed alone most nights- even if you hadn't you're sure he would have noticed, after all he's in here every other night. 

You'd complained about having to work until midnight, often even later, doing the work of at least three people, and being absolutely exhausted on the walk home. Waking up for school in the morning after a closing shift was always the _worst_.

And of course, the nail in your coffin: letting it slip that none of the store security cameras actually _worked_.

It had been a long day, those closing shifts were killing your grades _and_ you had to walk to work in the rain immediately after class to begin your shift. By the time you'd clocked in you were fatigued, definitely catching a cold, and utterly miserable. 

Your shift only got worse from there. The store was packed all evening, you hardly got a chance to catch your breath until the end of the dinner rush. Your lazyass coworker had spent most of his shift operating the pizza ovens and doing the bare minimum. Tragically, he's probably the best coworker you have- god you really hope you get some new hires soon, you'd be happy to train the newbies without extra pay if it meant you could give up some of your workload.

At 10:00 your coworker said goodbye, offering to let you hit his vape since you "look like ass dude." You politely declined and he responded with a shrug and a flurry of smoke rings. Thanks Trevor. 

When Dib arrived you were busy wiping down tables, scraping strings of cheese off the plastic with a fork. You didn't bother greeting him, you really didn't have the energy to deal with him and his weird vibes. You only had 45 minutes left on the clock, and 15 minutes before you were supposed to lock the front doors. 

He waited patiently at the counter, eyes boring holes in the back of your head all the while. You wiped down another two tables before you returned to the register.

"I really hope you don't plan on dining in, 'cause I've had a shit day and if you're not out in 15 I'm locking you in the store when I leave." If any of your managers were here they'd probably fire you on the spot for talking to a customer like that. 

"Oh, sorry? Are you okay?" He asked. You sighed, yanking off your stupid visor and tossing it aside on the counter.

"Come on dude, do you want a pizza or not? I'm seriously fucking exhausted and I'm sorry if this is rude but I just wanna finish cleaning the store and get out of here already." 

"No, of course I-"

"No as in you _don't_ want anything?"

"No- I mean, yes but-"

"Dude."

"Let me help!" He says, or rather shouts. "Let me help you clean." He clarified. 

"Seriously? You came here to close a restaurant you don't even work in?" You had to admit, as weird as Dib is, you'd be more than grateful for an extra set of hands around here. Maybe if you let him help you can have the whole closing routine done in time to catch the midnight bus!

"You seem tired." He says softly, and it's actually kind of endearing how he tilts his head and buries his hands in his pockets, like a bashful child. But then he had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth. "Not to say you look bad, I just mean your posture and those circles under your eyes and usually you're _much_ nicer and- oof!" 

You poked him with the handle of a broom, the one you kept right by the register in case you need to use it as an impromptu weapon- which, unfortunately has happened more than once. 

"Sweep the lobby, turn the lights off in the arcade, and then get out of here alright?" 

You passed him the broom, turning away to go shut off the ovens for the evening. For a few blissful minutes you went about your tasks, occasionally peeking out of the kitchen at Dib, who was dutifully sweeping the lobby. The smile on his face made your stomach twist. Geez, you'd been such an asshole and this poor guy was just trying to do you a solid!

You sighed, you owed him an apology _and_ a thank you.

You abandoned your apron and filled two Super Ultra Giant cups with soda, you needed some god damn caffeine after the day you've had- on the bright side though, you're on track to be done closing in time to catch the bus so long as Dib leaves quickly.

"Hey." You said, and he jumped, like he'd forgotten you were even here. 

"Hi!" He replied quickly. You hold out one of the sodas to him, and he just _melts_. You can see it in his face that this is probably the nicest thing anyone has every done for him and it would almost be sweet if it weren't so sad. Almost as depressing as your dead end life job.

"Sorry I yelled at you, it's been a really rough day. That's not an excuse it's just... Y'know... And thanks for sweeping and stuff! I really appreciate the help." You refuse to make eye contact with him while you speak, and that's probably for the better. Even there were a 10 foot thick lead wall between the two of you, you'd still be able to feel his eyes on you, wide and unblinking. Like a motherfucking owl.

"Don't mention it. If Trevor would have just done his job you wouldn't have had so much extra work to do today!" 

That statement (while true) made you uneasy. 

"Do.. do you and Trevor know each other?" You asked, gulping down some of your soda, stabbing the top of the styrofoam cup with your nails as you drained the drink.

Dib stills, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

"He was here for the afternoon shift but he left at ten. And you got here at like eleven." You explained. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, something was wrong with this situation- your body had already realized that, but your brain had yet to catch up.

"Y-yeah! Actually, we're uh... Neighbours! We're neighbours." Dib lies, and your stomach drops. It would be a piss poor attempt at a lie even if you didn't already know that Trevor lived in his van.

"Oh, cool." You said, pretending to believe him- he was probably just saying he knows Trevor because you put him on the spot! You willed yourself into believing that nothing was wrong, that Dib didn't have bad intentions, he was just a little weird. A little _really_ weird.

You took another sip of your soda, you'd already drank nearly half of it somehow and it was starting to give you a stomach ache, but you ignored it.

"So uh, we won't get in trouble for these, right? Since we're not paying for them?" Dib asks and the change of subject relaxes you. 

"Oh no, even if somebody saw they'd have no way to prove it. None of the cameras in this place even work." With that simple sentence, that one little slip up at the end of a long day, your fate was sealed.

Dib cocked his head to one side, still with the same stare he always had. It reminded you of an owl; unblinking, dark eyes that seemed to reflect no light, like tiny black holes draining whatever you were _really_ made of. He looked...hungry? No. That wasn’t enough. Not the right word, it wasn’t dangerous enough. He was staring at you like a meal, but his gaze wasn’t _hungry_.

It was _predatory_ , you realized with a start. He was wearing the same expression a hungry lion would give a gazelle with a broken leg. 

“Why do you even have cameras, then?”

“They’re to deter break-ins.” You barked, faster and more high pitched than you’d intended. “So that we’re safer, since criminals won’t want to get caught...”

The corner of Dib’s mouth twitched. For a split second you saw a giddy grin, manic and joyful, cross his face.

It terrified you.

Before you could move or suggest that he leave, Dib snatched your wrist, just like he had the first time you’d met. He tugged you around, yanking both your arms behind your back, sending a shock of pain through you from where your shoulder threatened to tear out of its socket.

Your head slammed on the counter next to the register, and in some back part of your brain, you were thankful you’d bothered to wipe it down earlier. You tilted your chin, and despite your cheek being pushed against the glass countertop, you managed to look Dib in the eyes.

He was crying.

“You’re so sweet, so kind to me, even though I know I annoy you, you keep letting me come back, so please...please let me help you. Let me make you feel good too.”

You attempted to stand up straight, to fight back and kick this creepy motherfucker's ass, but he's a lot stronger than you'd assumed. Even worse, your struggle only resulted in you squirming against him in a way that was obviously not doing you any favors. 

He let out a breathy little laugh and leaned down over you, trapping you between himself and the counter. 

"Just be good and I'll make this good for you okay? I promise." He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and plants kisses along the curve of your shoulder. If you ignored the context of the action, it was almost romantic. But it's pretty hard to ignore that you're about to be raped in a shitty pizzeria.

This place really is Hell on Earth.

His hand slipped to your workplace-appropriate jeans and he fumbled with the button for a second, eventually settling to tear it off completely in his frustration. Every layer separating his hand from your skin seemed to infuriate him more, and even with his other hand pinning your wrists to the counter, you couldn’t help but notice that his hands shook when he shoved your underwear down your thighs.

He apparently cared more about his own clothing than yours, considering he took the extra ten seconds to actually unbutton his jeans before pushing his hips, clad in shitty ufo-print boxers, against your ass.

It almost felt more violating that way, with your naked core soaking the fabric covering his dick. Even through the cloth, you could feel every pulse and throb of blood down that god-forsaken _thing_ he seemed so intent on grinding into you with. 

“Fuck, you’re so warm...I thought about you so many times, but it doesn’t even compare...!”

You don't even realize that you've been grinding your teeth until your jaw starts to ache. The dull pain reminds you that you have a functioning mouth, one you can use for speaking and biting and other such things. You've been too shell shocked to say anything so far, not that there's a lot for you to say anyways. You have a feeling Dib is not the kind of guy to listen to reason or the word "stop." But, you try to give him a piece of your mind anyways.

Your brain must be absolutely fried because all you manage to spit out is a meek _"please."_ You were begging him to stop but he clearly interpreted your plea differently.

Dib shushed you, you could feel him smiling, mouth still pressed against your back. 

"It's okay, I'm gonna take care of you, don't worry." He reassures you, although it's exactly the opposite of what you want to hear. You keep your legs clamped tightly together in the hopes that it'll make things difficult for Dib- maybe even difficult enough for him to give up. It doesn't work.

In fact, it only heightened the sensation when he plunges a finger into you, clumsily poking and probing into your soft cunt, making you gasp.

The awkward angle doesn’t do you any favors, just makes it easier for him to access your insides with those gross hands of his. Fuck, you nearly gagged at the realization that whatever filth was on his dirty fingernails was suddenly fishing around in your cunt.

Gross.

Another finger, another _disgusting_ finger found it’s way into you. The violating sting of his tactless, rushed ministrations was nothing compared to how sick you felt, but it burned in the worst way possible regardless. 

Dib was still pressed above you, rutting against your asscheeks above where his hand was exploring you. His body heat crept into you, adding a feverish sensation to your already sickly body. 

The smell of food grease and cheap cleaning solution mixed with the noxious smell of sex, both his and your own. It only got stronger when your captor tugged his cock free of its confines, quickly replacing the sensation of his fingers inside you with the feeling of his length sliding up and down your slit.

You choked out a sob.

He sighed happily against your neck. 

“It’ll only hurt for a second, I promise.”

You want to scream. You want to snarl and bite and attack him like a fucking animal. How dare he make a promise like that. He had to know that the damage he was doing going to long outlast the physical pain, he had to! 

When he pushes the head of his cock inside of you he makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan, and you're fairly certain if you turned to look at him he'd be crying again. 

The coolness of the countertop does nothing to soothe the feeling of your own hot tears streaking down your face and pooling against your cheeks. 

Surprisingly it doesn't hurt nearly as much as you thought it would. At least, until he starts to move. He's slow, deliberate, almost _gentle_ in the way he fucks you. His thrusts are shallow, he's hardly getting anything more than the head inside you. 

You choke on your own tears, more sobs bubbling out of your throat. A whimper eventually escapes, a feeble last attempt at some sort of dignity, the last wisp of your will to fight. 

Dib mistook it for a moan.

Your crying multiplied twofold when you felt him fully sheathed inside you. The tickle of his pubes on your skin made you sick, just another reminder that he was _forcing_ you to be close to him. 

A couple shallow, experimental thrusts deeper had your hipbones digging into the corner of the counter. It was sure to bruise, but you’d rather be bruised by that than by Dib. And somehow, you were sure he wouldn’t mind hurting you if you tried to fight back. 

He’d probably ignore it. Or delude himself into thinking it was some backwards kind of foreplay.

Another hard slam of his hips against your ass dragged you out of your mental tangent.

“Oh god...” He whined.

You cried.

“I love you.”

More crying.

"You're so good, so fucking good," the hand that isn't pinning your arms down is splayed across your stomach, rubbing it in what you can only assume to be his attempt at soothing. But his touch repulsed you, and he's pressing far too hard to be comfortable. 

With his hand pushing on your stomach and his dick nearly poking your intestines, you're really starting to regret drinking that soda. Every thrust hits your bladder in a way that's both painful and _horribly_ pleasurable.

You're mortified enough as it is, getting reamed by a total stranger at work in the middle of the night- you're pretty sure you might just die on the spot if your bladder fails you. 

A particularly sharp thrust nearly made you burst, and you _sobbed_ feeling yourself leaking on him. 

"Not there- please, just stop for a second!" You beg, but your plea falls on deaf ears.

“Shhh, it’s ok, it’s ok, I promise, you’re doing great, you feel amazing.”

“Just let me go for one fucking second—“

The hand that was on your stomach was suddenly a fist slamming down on the side of your head. Your whole body tensed up in fear, which unfortunately turned your pussy into a vice on Dib’s cock.

The ragged moan he let out was broken, almost _giddy_ , like he was laughing. Somehow that sound was scarier than the threat of his fist on your head. 

“Say it again, say please again, beg for it.”

You whimpered a halfhearted “please, Dib” in some desperate hope that maybe it would be enough to make him finish so you could leave.

All it did was make him thrust up into you _harder_ , with his hand back on your abdomen.

"Please, please, _please_ , I cant- I can't do it," you sob.

"You can, you're okay. I'm right here baby," you nearly vomit at the pet name. "I've got you, just let go, I've got you." He says, and you're not sure if he knows exactly what he's asking for. But then he pushes down on your stomach, the heel of his palm digging into your bladder, and you realize he absolutely does, the sick bastard.

Your knees shook, exhausted from a long day of work and from being locked in place for however long you've been trapped underneath him. Your sobs have dissolved into panicked hiccups and shakey breaths- you're losing your will to fight and he knows it.

Worst of all, amongst all the pain and discomfort and _rage_ you're feeling you can't help that the occasional thrust felt pretty fucking good.

You’re sure you’re gonna puke up your food for at least a week after everything. Dib’s hands _still_ pinning your wrists and kneading your bladder felt punishing, bruising. Your whole body hurt, but every thrust sent another jolt of white-hot pleasure through you. 

You cried when you came, not sure if the relief you felt after was you squirting or pissing yourself. Not that Dib seemed to care, groaning and pushing his whole body against yours when he locked his pelvis to yours and buried his own liquid release inside your abused body. 

“...why, why inside?” You choked, too dehydrated to cry any more tears.

“It’s ok, I promise. Whatever happens was meant to happen!” Whispered Dib, his face pressed in between your shoulder blades.

When he finally let go of your wrists and pulled out of you, you couldn’t move. You lay there, covered and stuffed with more disgusting body fluids than you wanted in your entire lifetime. He pressed a final, soft kiss to your head, and pulled your equally disgusting pants and underwear back up your legs. 

You barely comprehended the sound of him tucking himself back into his jeans and saying goodbye. You didn’t care that he was leaving you there in a puddle of sweat and tears, as long as he _finally_ left you alone.

The bell strung on the doorway rang, signaling that Dib had left, and you were sure that if you had any tears left, they’d have been relieved ones. 

You pulled yourself off the counter, shaking.

Fuck.

You were gonna have to clean this up, weren’t you.

And you'd have to walk back home- that fucker made you miss the midnight bus.

Exhausting. Everything was so fucking exhausting. 

You contemplated not going to work when you woke up in the morning, if you could even call it waking up. You weren't entirely sure you got any sleep. Between your hours long boiling showers and the pain between your legs (and on your head, and your stomach, where all of Dib's pushing had left a splotchy purple bruise) it was a miracle you managed to get even a minute of rest.

You didn't want to go to work. You kind of didn't want to go anywhere ever again. 

Unfortunately, you lived in a ruthless capitalist hellscape and you need a paycheck and shitty under-the-table food to survive. So you shower again- under cold water this time, you'd used up all the hot water last night, and trudged off to work.

The two mile walk to Bloaty's made your already aching body even more miserable. On top of that, you had to wear your nice jeans to work, since your work pants were stained with piss and cum (and were buried deep at the bottom of your trash can.)

Somehow, the oh-so-familiar smell of cheap pizza _didn’t_ make you vomit on the spot. For every nauseating reminder that you’d been violated on that ugly countertop, there was a reminder of a slightly less traumatic workplace experience. Like mopping up a side salad that some kid had thrown on the floor. Or skimping on the cleaning process for the toxic waste dump that was the ball pit.

Your favorite manager was even on duty, the one who only slightly raised his voice at you when you did something wrong, instead of outright screaming in your face.

You only heard half of the sentence he yelled over the dull roar of the customers. Something about new hires, extra help. Maybe your luck was finally turning.

As soon as you clock in he called you over, ignoring the long line of already pissed off customers that you were no doubt going to have to deal with yourself as soon as he left. If you were noticably more lethargic than usual he didn't mention it, which was probably an act of kindness in itself.

"Alright kid, you're in charge of training the new kid. Travis-" 

"Trevor." 

"Yeah that guy, he'll train the other newbies for the opening shift so you get this guy for closing." Your manager said. He was certainly not the most eloquent speaker but you didn't mind too much, the man got right to the point, you respected that.

"Alright. Where's the new-" your sentence dies in your mouth when you spot... _him_.

You’d know that horrible haircut anywhere. Your face went cold, blood draining into your toes.

You were a statue when he rushed over and grabbed your hands.

“Hi! Guess what, I talked to the manager and he said I could come work here! Pretty neat huh? Now we can spend even more time together!”

You weren’t sure wether to be thankful or regretful that you skipped breakfast. 

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Get him a bucket and a mop for that wet ass pussy. And also the floor. Because he came on the floor. Make him clean it up. You don’t get paid enough for this shit.


End file.
